Shadows' Shadows
by Ambiguity in D Major
Summary: It was foolproof. He'd trade his arm and Gate for Alphonse and go home. Simple, right? Unfortunately, nothing is ever that easy for Edward Elric. Rated T for language. Thanks for beta-ing to Lhurgoyf
1. The Small Mistakes

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. At all. This entire story is a fusion of the plots of Harry Potter, by the esteemed JK Rowling and Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa. All characters, plot elements, and intellectual property belongs to those two geniuses. Again, and for the last time, I own nothing and make no profit from this writing, and the same is true for the entire story.**

**Now that the boring legal stuff is out of the way...**

**Hi, everyone. This is my first fanfic, I got tired of saying 'I wish that they'd…' and just decided to write my own. This is actually going to be the first of a series, but for now it'll be just this one. I won't lie and promise anything ridiculous like regular updates or something (I AM trying to have a life) but I can say with confidence that this story will never. Never. Never ever ever be abandoned. If I forget this, feel free to remind me via review spam. **

**A day after posting, and I've already realized I've made a mistake. The opening to this story is extremely confusing unless you remember that little scene during the final battle where Ed is beating Pride up. Pride, who is rapidly falling apart, tries to make Ed his new host. Ed blasts him apart and continues on his merry way. This story changes a few of those minute details. Just for all of you who forgot that scene.**

**Anyway, since I know none of you read long author's notes-**

**On with the story!**

It was the same old scene. Blank, empty whiteness. Good old reliable Gate of Truth ready to rip off some body parts. And here he was, ready to give up everything to save his little brother. Again.

Whoa. Déja vu.

Truth began to speak. Hopefully to accept the trade. Then he'd be able to return with Al, minus a measly arm and Gate, and live the rest of his life peacefully. He'd earned at least that much.

Yeah, right.

"_So you want to give me your arm for your brother's soul, your Gate for his body," _the grinning being said. _"There's a problem with that, partially stemming from the Stone I'm assuming you don't know is in your chest."_

Edward felt rage. "WHAD'YA MEAN THERE'S A PROB…" He trailed off as his brain processed the rest of the sentence. "Stone? Me? Chest?"

Truth's perpetual grin took on an air of superiority, much like the Colonel's smirk. It made Ed want to punch the stupid silhouette and leave.

"_Well, that homunculus who tried to take your body almost made it. You cut him off just in time. However, that doesn't change the fact that part of the stone still made it. You, little al-che-mist… are a Homunculus._

Ed's shock at the casual pronouncement completely overrode his customary reaction to implications on his (lack of) height.

"But… I'm still me." The statement was more of a question, and filled with confusion.

"_Oh, you want to know why the Stone hasn't taken your soul yet? It's still in shock from losing its identity, and is busy forming a new Pride. It'll make itself noticed right… about… _now_."_

Everything went red and blurry. He heard lightning crackling along with what he detachedly recognized as his own screaming. When it was over, he barely realized it. His head was full of noise. Screaming, crying, pleading, souls, trapped in the stone. Trapped in _him._ Then, everything was mercifully still. The silence in his head was replaced with one voice, much different than the Pride from before. This voice was much less cold and distant, but still held all of the untold menace.

"**-swear if you don't all stay quiet I'll find a way to eat you all a second time!"**

Ed's eye twitched. It was quite disconcerting to have other people… things… beings thinking in his mental space.

"**Well, get used to it. There's two of us in here now. Or one thousand, six hundred and twelve if you count all those whiners in back."**

Ed frowned. He hadn't said that out-

"**-loud?"**

There was a moment in which the prodigal Fullmetal Alchemist's mind went completely blank. This was followed by a confused and astonished whirlwind of thought, theory, and scheming that followed the general lines of '_Holy shit he can read my mind'_.

Truth took that moment to interrupt what could have been a very long session of Q/A.

"_Yes, he's in your mind, and I'm sure you want him out. Now, about your toll,_" The alchemist's attention immediately returned. _"Your brother's soul will be returned. I can take your arm, same trade as last time. But it would grow back immediately."_

Ha! He'd found a loophole!

"_So I'll just take it and give you something else so it can't."_

Crap.

Arms shot out of the gate, snatching, grabbing, tearing at his right arm. If anything, the pain was worse the second time around. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

'For Al. Come on, you can take this. You've done it before.'

And then it was over. Ed looked down, wondering what Truth's sick idea of a 'replacement' was. He steeled himself, prepared for the worst.

Oh. Automail. It looked exactly as it had when Winry had last repaired it. So Truth wasn't going to screw him this time. Or maybe he hadn't gotten around to it yet.

"_And now for the rest of your payment."_

Yep. Getting around to it now.

"Can't you just take my stone as payment?" Ed asked. "It should definitely be enough, if it's most of Pride."

"**What, and I don't get a say in my destruction?"**

"No."

Truth shook its head. _"I _could, _if it was actually a price to you. You want that stone out anyway. Getting rid of it to save your brother wouldn't be equivalent."_

"Then take my gate."

"_Can't do that either. As a homunculus, you are a being of alchemy. It is an integral part of you. Any attempt to get rid of it won't end well for you."_

"This is all your fault."

"**Me? How? I wasn't even born yet! It's that other Pride's fault, not me! You think I want to be in here, sharing a mind with an antisocial bookworm with a Napoleon complex?"**

"_But there is another way."_ If it were physically possible, the creepy grin probably would have widened even further. As it was, it remained grotesquely, insanely wide. Mocking him.

"_See, I had a lot of fun watching your little adventures al-che-mist. It's going to be boring without you. So I have a deal for you. You work for me, travel around, solve a couple problems for me. I take some of the stone for each imbalance you correct."_

Ed frowned. "Why can't you do that yourself?"

For once, the grin lessened. Just a bit. A tiny bit. Not that Truth would ever admit that fact.

"_I'm not all powerful, just omniscient. The Gate can only interfere when invoked, and there are some worlds where its hold is too weak for even that. I need someone to do the dirty work for me. Someone like you."_

"Some worlds? The hell does that even mean?"

The grin widened again. Back to full blast, with the smug tone included.

"_Where did you think the Gate goes to? It, like any other door, leads somewhere. Or, in the case of an omnidimensional phenomenon, everywhere at once. Goodbye, and do provide some good entertainment."_

The Gate slowly opened. As it did so, Edward saw Alphonse's body being reconstructed before his eyes.

"Nii-san!"

The arms began to wrap around Ed's body, and pull him towards the inky blackness of the Gate. Ed looked towards the Truth.

"Could I talk to my brother first? I need to tell him about the deal."

Truth couldn't have sounded any more gleeful.

"_Got anything to trade?"_

Damn.

"Nii-san!" Al's voice grew panicked. "_What did you do?"_

Ed looked through the small opening on his face not covered by the arms.

"Just wait, Al. I'll be-" Ed's form was completely dragged into the doors, which quickly swung shut, as if eager to cut him off. Well, that didn't sound very reassuring. Knowing Al, all he'd do is worry now. Ah, well, nothing he could do about it.

Alphonse turned to Truth.

"What did he trade?"

The Truth, the One, the All, the Universe, turned to Al, and spoke one word.

"_Bye."_

"Wait, wha-" Al was cut off in midsentence as he, like his brother, was dragged into the Gate, towards a very relieved and frustrated group of friends.

Truth sat back down and examined its now-reclaimed arm.

"_This'll be interesting,"_ it mused. _"Maybe I should have told him about- no, more fun this way."_

* * *

For a while, Ed just floated in a dark void. It was quite different than the blank, open whiteness of before. Here, he felt closed in, though still had a sense of going somewhere. At least, he hoped he was. Yep. Just alone with his thoughts.

"**And me."**

And Pride.

"**So, about the whole trying to give me up to save your brother thing? Kind of wasn't the best way to greet a new neighbor."**

Ed snorted. The sound felt flat and empty, as if the void around him had sucked the emotion from his laugh.

"I _don't_ want you in my head. You tried to kill me. And my brother. And my friends. And-"

"**All right, all right. So the last Pride may have done some things to maybe make you mad, but taking it out on me is a little harsh. **_**I**_** never did anything. At least, that I can remember."**

"I-" Ed's retort was cut off abruptly as he was violently jerked to his left. All of a sudden, a white doorway opened up in front of him, and he was forcibly yanked through the opening.

* * *

Grindelwald's chief enforcer looked on over the scene before him with a grim smile. Blood of innocents to start the ceremony? Check. Expendable underlings ready to perform the ritual? Check. Enormous runic array that took weeks to finish? Check, check, double check.

It was perfect.

The only thing left was to actually carry out the seventh-degree summoning. It had been months ago when his master had come to him with the directive- secure a powerful being to harness. With a demon of a suitable level of power, the possibilities were limitless. Wards could be tied to it. Power could be siphoned off to supply numerous spells and other magical projects the army had underway. The war would be theirs! All they had to do was actually bind the thing. This was the culmination of half a year of research into the most obscure of runic text, the scribblings of power-mad mages, and the literal sweat, blood, and tears of the Ancient Rune specialists on hand.

But now it was time.

As he gave the command to start, the underlings raised their wands, pointing towards the exact center of the array, and began the chant Imperio'd into their memory. It wasn't a matter of forcing them, but one of making sure they didn't screw this up. A single misplaced syllable and the whole thing could backfire, and the- quite likely angry- demon would be free to slaughter them all. As it was, everyone who wasn't absolutely vital to the project's success had cleared the area hours ago.

The runes shone with a pale-blue light, and static of the same color sparked along the intricately carved lines, coalescing in the middle. It piled up, forming an indistinct mass of writhing electricity until all at once, the whole lightshow stopped.

The hardened veteran tightened his grip on the railing he was leaning on.

"Keep going!" he ordered. As if they would stop. The Imperius made sure of that. Such a useful spell.

Now visible in the center of the circle was an enormous set of pitch black doors, carved with fantastic designs in intricate detail, carvings of humans suffering. A portal to the underworld, perhaps, the man mused. Slowly, the doors creaked open, revealing a white void beyond. Strange. He'd always assumed that it would be black. Or at the very least, glowing red, with the screams of the damned ringing in the background. Compared to what he'd imagined, a blank white seemed… boring. There was still something very unsettling about that whiteness. He wanted those doors closed, the ritual done.

Then, in great contrast to the gradual pace the rest of the ritual had taken place at, a screaming red figure was hurled out of the void. The doors slammed shut with a resounding bass **boom** that he felt in his bones, and then disappeared. The grunts lowered their arms, and cautiously stared at the strange being that they had summoned with a mix of curiosity, fear, and relief that they hadn't been toasted. Sure, it **looked** small, but they all knew exactly how powerful what they had just called was. It had been repeatedly explained to them in an attempt to display exactly how dead they were if they messed up.

The enforcer almost actually smiled. Now, as soon as his master got back from his duel with that so called Leader of the Light, the real work could commence. Speaking of which, it was getting a little late. They had been confident that he could destroy Dumbledore and get back in time to observe the end of the summons. Oh, well. He'd just inform him of the success as soon as he got back-

His train of thought was interrupted by a panicked underling.

"Sir! We need to evacuate immediately!"

He must've heard wrong.

"What?" he snapped angrily. "The ritual is done, the demon is sealed and bound. It's not doing anything!"

The unlucky subordinate's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, trying to figure out what he was talking about, before obviously reaching a decision.

"I don't know about what you're doing in this division sir, but word just came in on the duel between Lord Grindelwald and Dumbledore! Dumbledore somehow won! They're speculating that he cheated, but-"

The rest of the man's sentence was cut off as he was violently thrown back by a furious hex. The chief enforcer was a combination of scared and disbelieving, and hiding it behind a mask of fury.

"WE LOST?"

The battered man looked like he was about to cry. Or piss himself. Maybe both. Either way, it made his tormentor feel better, which probably saved his life in that moment. The enraged now-commander of Grindelwald's army frowned.

"Never mind. Inform the rest of the men. We need to get out and regroup for a counterassault before those damned Order fighters show themselves. No doubt that they'll be cocky after this, and we aren't prepared for a full assault-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as he was violently blasted over the railing he had been just moments before been leaning on. If he had been the superstitious type, he would've blamed karma for cutting him off midsentence the same way as he did to just moments before. But he wasn't, so no such thoughts crossed his mind as he slumped limply to the ground.

* * *

Edward had no clue what was going on. At all. He'd been tossed unceremoniously out of the Gate, into what looked suspiciously like a transmutation circle. Now he was lying on his side in a red liquid he doubted was ketchup. And he couldn't move. That was the key point that made him decision he wasn't in friendly hands. He watched as the men in dresses scurried around, apparently obeying the man watching from the balcony above. They all tossed him looks bordering on fear. Damn right they should be scared of him. Now only if he could get free…

Then, something happened. An explosion, flashes of multicolored light and the overseer was hurled across the room, straight onto the edge of the circle, his body smudging a few symbols. Suddenly, Ed's limbs sprang to life. He sat up, wiping the blood off his face, and tried to step out of the circle before it exploded or something.

A translucent blue wall sprang to life and he bounced back. Apparently he wasn't completely free yet. Ed sat back down, and waited for something to happen. Maybe someone else would break the circle, and he could escape for good.

* * *

Dumbledore led the charge through the bunker, blasting and incapacitating all the minions in his path, two Order members shielding him on either side. While on the inside, he was still broken and hurt at what he'd had to do to his former friend Gellert, it had been a long time in coming, and he needed to be strong while the threat still lasted. And so here he was, fighting his way down into a base where the second in command was rumored to be leading a secret operation. He reached a door, heavily guarded. No matter. A few flicks of his new Elder Wand and they were all out for the count, ready to be picked up by the Aurors trailing behind him. He raised the wand and pointed it directly at the heavily warded steel door.

"Bombarda Maxima!"

It blasted off its hinges, and the wizards and witches behind him filled the gaping hole with spellfire. He held up a hand to stop them, and stepped into the chamber.

It was enormous, and probably the site of the 'secret project'. In the center, there was a massive circle, covered in blood.

A man in the uniform of Gellert's army whimpered and passed out not five feet away from him. Dumbledore looked over at him in bemusement. He looked like he had been crying, and had a suspicious wet stain on the front of his robes. He hadn't even noticed the man. Now he looked back to the rune circle before him. Lying near the edge was the unmistakable figure of the missing second in command. He looked like he'd been caught in the explosion that had torn the door apart. And then, not five feet away from the prone figure, was another person, soaked in blood, and staring up at him with piercing golden eyes.

**So there's that. Hoped you liked it. The next chapter ****will**** take forever to write, even if I've got the plot for the first few vaguely in my head. Read 'n' Review and all that stuff!**

**-Ambiguity**


	2. Demon

**Wow. You people rock. Almost 200 views, and 12 reviews.**

**Okay, so the review count isn't that impressive, but you guys can fix that.**

**Anyway, onto less selfish matters, I have gotten a few questions as to the 50-something-year-before-acutal-canon-timeline. Rest assured, I am nowhere near confident enough to write something completely different like that. There is liberal use of the Time Skip. As will be seen next chapter. Sorry for all of you who were rooting for something else, maybe later. Or if I get bored. Now, since I've wasted enough of your time…**

**On with the story!**

Albus Dumbledore took a few seconds to rip his gaze away from the man's eyes. Almost immediately as he did so, he began to mentally calculate the odds that he had been using some form of Legilimency on him. Doubtful, but possible.

The man, still standing in the circle, began to speak.

And absolute gibberish came out. It was nothing like any language or dialect Dumbledore had heard before. And if it was a language, odds are he would know it. He had learned several human languages, as well as Gobbledegook, and was starting to pick up Mermish. This was intriguing.

A tired but satisfied looking wizard approached him, pulling him away from his musings. Dumbledore vaguely recognized him as a new Order recruit. Ah! That was it! Young Barnabas Longbottom!

"Sir, we've got the main floors cleared, and most of the enemy have surrendered," he stated. "But there's something that the others found that has them in a fuss.. They wanted to talk to you as soon as possible."

Dumbledore sighed.

"Very well, I shall be there shortly." He'd have to leave this particular mystery for later.

* * *

Edward watched the two men converse. It didn't take a genius to figure out something weird was going on right now. First of all, nobody could understand him, even if he could somehow get what they said. He chalked that one up to the knowledge from the Gate. Knowledge enough to understand, but no skill to speak it.

Second was the strange clothes. Other world or not, he was sure that dresses couldn't be the standard clothing for men. That left either crazy people or cultists. Seeing as there were way too many of them for them all to be crazy, which left cultists, which was its own brand of crazy.

Finally were the weird lights. He'd seen them flashing through the dust after the blast, and was sure that none of the men had drawn a circle. They seemed to be using _sticks_ of all things instead. New world, new rules, etc. He just wished he could've been dropped somewhere else than a battle zone.

He looked up as one of the men seemed to end a conversation.

"Very well, I shall be there shortly." He then twisted and disappeared –_disappeared!_ - with a loud cracking sound.

"**Wow. I haven't been around very long, but judging by the state of your mind right now, that isn't something that happens on a regular basis."**

Edward was brought back to the present with the reminder of his guest. He began to animatedly explain exactly what he thought of Pride's blunt assessment.

"On a regular basis? A REGULAR BASIS?! That man just _vanished!_ I'm assuming by his conversation that he was traveling, but that shouldn't be possible! Did he just deconstruct himself, or travel too fast for the eye to follow? If he did the first, wouldn't that count as human transmutation? And how would he reconstruct himself again? But if he traveled super-fast, then he wouldn't be able to react fast enough to turn, and he'd end up as a grease mark on some wall. Not to mention friction and wind resistance! I need some paper!"

* * *

His rant was watched in fear by the man who had just delivered the message. To every other observer in the room, the strange golden man was ranting to himself in the middle of the circle. As he was still covered in blood, and ignoring the several wands trained on him, he cut a very intimidating figure. Finally, one of the braver wizards spoke up.

"Stupefy!"

The red jet flew across the space between wand and man. A few seconds before impact and unconsciousness, the man _changed._

His body didn't change. His face was still round, his height was the same, and his blonde hair was still in that silly looking braid. But everything subtly shifted, transforming him into a completely different figure. He straightened up, his stance now suitable for that of a king, or at least a great leader. The cast of his face altered, making him less angry and more coldly furious. And then, as he sidestepped the now-forgotten spell, everyone noticed the only physical change to his being.

His eyes were a deep, malicious shade of violet.

Pride had noticed the attack before Ed. This wasn't saying much, seeing as how the alchemist had worked himself into a frenzy. But he had also reacted faster.

Pride had pushed Ed into his mind to work on his theories, and come out, taken control, to save himself from the assault. Honestly, the kid might not even know the difference, as wrapped up as he was with Truth-knows-what.

And so he had sidestepped the bolt of light, and sent a lance of inky black shadows back at the offending man, who for some reason looked very regretful of his previous actions. Then, feet away from a bloody death, the man was saved by the same barrier that had stopped Edward from leaving the circle earlier. As it was, Pride had made his point. And the man who he'd nearly scared to death had fallen back on his backside in a puddle of blood. Hilarious.

Of course, now, every person in the room had a stick pointed directly at him. Sticks which, he now knew, can and would cause him bodily harm. Oh, and Elric had finally noticed who was in charge.

"**Hey! Let me out! I never gave you permission to steal my body! I swear, I'm gonna kick your ass when I finally get out of here!"**

Despite the dire circumstances, Pride couldn't help but quip back. It was too good.

"Oh, really? How were you going to dodge that one? Were you going to shout it away? Because that's the only thing I saw you doing."

Silence.

"And how would you even hurt me anyway?" he mused. "I share a body with you. If you beat yourself up, I'd be sitting back and enjoying the show."

"…**Shut up."** And with that, Pride started laughing.

* * *

Dumbledore didn't know what to make of the various papers scattered before him. Wards that looked like their sole intent was to sap the power of the occupants, Magical constructs that looked like they were meant to be bound to a person, and strangest of all, millions upon millions of rune circles.

Half of these projects didn't even make sense. If you bound a wizard to any sort of useful ward or enchantment, they wouldn't last a week. The large-scale projects these men were considering would practically immolate a wizard in seconds. It would take a superhuman to power these for a _day._ Then, one of the others in the room found something.

"Ha! Here are their research logs!" he exclaimed. "Look here- _Month 7, Day 23. Today we finished the schematics for the last of the wards. It'll be worth it when the pay for this finally comes in. I heard we'd be living like kings after we won the war…_ Blah, blah blah. Then he goes on to describe the final details, and what his buddies are up to. _"Larius and his team have gotten about halfway through the summoning array. Glad I don't have that job, looks like a pain to draw. I know one thing, though. I don't want to be anywhere near there when they actually summon this thing. Apparently, it's going to be some demon that would kill us all if they messed this up. Here's hoping they don't. This is the best assignment I've gotten for the whole war."_

The man trailed off as Dumbledore flew out of the room. He was halfway up the stairs before common sense got to him, and he Apparated back to the main chamber. The one with the runic circle, and the man with the golden eyes.

As soon as he got there, someone ran up to him.

"Dumbledore, sir! Something's wrong! The thing in the circle started yelling, so Jenkins threw a stunner at it. Then _it_ changed, and threw some kind of Dark spell back at him! The circle seems to have him contained, but they're all panicking in there, and it's just standing there _laughing_!"

Dumbledore sighed. He walked past the panicking Auror, into the room, and looked down into the circle. Sure enough, the man-no, demon- was still in the circle. And just like reported, it was laughing. As if it had heard the funniest joke in years. Dumbledore tried one last attempt to communicate.

"Can you understand me? I apologize for Auror Jenkins' actions, he was out of line. Please tell us what you want." The laughing stopped as the being looked up at him.

It obviously got the gist of what he had said, but didn't seem to feel like communicating in any known language. Dumbledore sighed. Nothing for it. None of the notes seemed to say anything about getting _rid _of a demon. They hadn't even considered the event. It seemed they just wanted it here to stay. Which left killing it, or hiding it away.

Killing a demon was certainly not going to be easy, even if it was confined. Destructive spellfire could destroy more of the runes, and then who knew what could happen. Also, he was reluctant to take another life, even if it was that of a demon's. Hiding it, binding it… That was much more appealing. And less morally reprehensible.

* * *

Pride watched uneasily as the man-Dumbledore-sighed again and raised his arm. The arm with the stick. Instantly, he was on guard. Those were the weapons, he'd learned, and he was cornered and limited in dodging room. Then, the Dumbledore man spoke.

"On my mark!"

Shit.

"STUPEFY!" The cry rang out from every corner of the room at once, and Pride had nowhere to go. He was caught, transfixed for a moment as many of the red jets found their target. Then he was forced back into the cage of his host's mind, and Edward was free again, only to be bound up with ropes, immobilized, and pulled up into the air.

His last sight was the regretful face of Dumbledore before the final spell was spoken.

"Somnus."

* * *

As that last word was spoken, Dumbledore lowered the Elder Wand.

"Clear out the runes," he commanded. "We need to move it before it wakes up."

The markings in question were eradicated in moments as wizards eager to see the demon gone vanished the last remnants of the experiment. Dumbledore took a moment to marvel at how they all jumped to his word. He wasn't even technically in charge of this mission. Just here as the leader of the Order, to assist the actual Auror force. And yet they all obeyed him without question. Amazing what stopping a Dark Lord could do for you.

He retrieved his train of thought once more before he had to dwell to much on it, and spoke up again.

"I shall take charge of the disposal of the demon. Any protests?"

The head of the DMLE, an unpleasant, overbearing man, shoved his way forward.

"Yes, Albus. There is a problem. This is a demon we're talking about. As in summoned from another plane of existence, class XXXXX, first-time-we've-seen-one-since-Merlin DEMON. It needs to be taken to the ministry, where we can hand it off the Department of Mysteries-"

"So they can poke it and prod it and keep the class quintuple-X being directly underneath the rest of the Ministry?" Dumbledore interrupted with a twinkle in his eyes. He'd been practicing it, and hoped to get it down by the time he was old enough to fit the whole grandfather image. He continued.

"I do hope you are aware that the Unknown Entities Sector of the Department sits a few hundred meters from the entrance to the Auror's Offices," he said. The look on the Head Auror's face clearly showed he was not aware of that fact.

"Meanwhile, I happen to have a way to resolve this quickly. We put the demon" -here he gestured to the being, which was still slumbering peacefully in midair- "somewhere where nobody will ever find it, and nobody will ever release it. I have the perfect idea where."

The odious bureaucrat backed off.

"Fine. Just don't blame me if this goes pear-shaped. I have enough on my doorstep, what with the massive headache cleaning up after the war's going to be."

Dumbledore twinkled some more.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

The Mirror of Erised had a long and convoluted history. It had changed hands many times over the course of its existence, due to its owners repeatedly forgetting to eat in favor of staring into their dreams made reality. This happened as often as a buyer realizing how bad it was for their general wellbeing, and passed it off to some other fool. As it was, the Mirror's origins were long forgotten, obscured by the mists of time. Its current owner, however, had a different use for it.

Dumbledore had long ago realized what a useful hiding place the Mirror was. All he had to do was turn the area behind the glass into a pocket dimension, charm the glass itself to be immaterial for a little while, and presto! It was a treasure chest that couldn't be looted unless one knew exactly what they were looking for, and would trap all the rest in an endless loop of daydreams until he came and found them. Of course, he very rarely needed to resort to such drastic measures, but this was one of the exceptions.

He now stood before the Mirror, not looking directly at it for fear of what he could see. The still-prone form of the demon floated behind him, thanks to numerous reapplications of Sleeping Charms. Now all he had to do was put the demon inside, and that was that. Anyone wanting to remove it would then have to desire setting an unimaginably powerful entity on themselves above all else. Foolproof.

He tapped the glass with his wand, uttering a long and complex Transfiguration spell. It shimmered, then became opaque. A few flicks of his wand was all it took to send the demon through, and then a few more taps and it was done. Sealed away. If only dealing with Gellert had been so easy.

**And so Ed and Pride are locked away for the rest of eternity. The end.**

**Yeah, no.**

**In response to a few choice reviews:**

**This fic is based off of the manga, where Ed originally successfully trades with Truth and goes home. This obviously doesn't happen here, but that is the version of FMA I used for this story.**

**Yes, Pride is different. Like it, hate it, I don't care. In my mind, he's basically a new person than the old Pride, as that one didn't make it. He is a reflection of Edward's own personality, which is basically a self-confident smart ass without any of those pesky morals that hold his host back.**

**This is, in fact, my first story. It sounds a lot like others because I took my favorite bits from other stories and added them all up, then threw in my own plot. I am heavily influenced by certain stories, including but not limited to Amaranthine, by Gift of the Dragons, and others that I read but can't remember right now.**

**Anyway, as this AN is getting longer than some of the scenes, bye for now!**

**-Ambiguity**


	3. Inside, looking outwards

**So… how 'bout these updates? Told you people I wasn't going to be on any sort of schedule. Hoping none of you hate me right now. I have a very good excuse, though.**

**Life.**

**No, seriously. Track is a major time-suck and my various school-related projects have diverted my attention. I know I shouldn't be blaming it all on other stuff, though. I did maybe procrastinate just a little bit.**

**This is a less suspenseful chapter. More of a transition into the canon timeline. Lhurgoyf was killing me over how my original chapter 3 was way shorter, so here's a longer chapter, kind of my burst of creativity for the week. And with that…**

**On with the story!**

When Edward woke up, it was dark. Everywhere. He was sitting in a black room, where the only thing he could see was himself. What he wouldn't give for a light right now…

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the darkness leapt back. The room holding him was bare, with no furnishings or decoration. The walls, floor and ceiling were all perfectly smooth, without an imperfection anywhere. And on the wall facing him was a window. It was a single sheet of glass, starting off wide at the base, then tapering into a pointed arch at the top. Outside was dark, showing nothing more than what looked like the inside of a cave, with a bolted and barred door on the far end.

"**Yes, yes. Very interesting. Now how about we get out of here, and get on with the whole 'imbalance' thing Truth wanted us to fix, hm?"**

Despite how annoying it was to admit, Pride was right. But as Ed examined the window, he found no evidence of a latch or handle. It seemed to be one solid piece, fused seamlessly into the material of the wall. How was he going to get out if he couldn't open the-

"**Do I seriously have to do the thinking for both of us? You're supposed to be smart, so figure this one out. Metal arm. Metal leg. GLASS barrier."**

Ed was about to retort angrily when he realized the point Pride was trying to make. Feeling stupid, he backed up, and took a good look at the window. Then, gathering himself, he charged forwards, springing into what would have been a glorious leap through a spray of shattered glass.

That is, if he hadn't bounced off with a dull _thunk_, landing on his back, and wondering what happened. Not to be discouraged, Ed got up again, standing in front of the obviously strong window, examining where he guessed he had struck. The glass was as flawless as before. He took a half step back, and then swung his automail fist forwards, throwing his entire weight into the punch.

_Clang_!

Aside from a ringing hand and what looked to be a dented index joint, nothing changed. No marks on the glass, no progress. Edward frowned. It was obviously something more than just a window. In the back of his head, he wondered how he'd gotten in this room in the first place, with no visible entry. He had only one resort now, and he didn't need some stupid Homunculus to remind him. For the third time, he stepped forwards. Ed clapped his hands, circle formed in his mind, and slammed them against the barrier. And proceeded to get nothing. No alchemic feedback whatsoever. It was as if the window, which he had proven without a doubt existed, just wasn't there. Or if it was, it wasn't made of anything.

It was, in a word, impossible.

The next two hours (by Edward's estimate. There was no actual way to measure the time) were spent examining every inch of the room. An alchemic breakdown was attempted on every square foot of surface, even the ceiling. That took some impressive acrobatics, but he managed it. And for all his efforts, he received the same response as with the damn window. Nothing.

Edward was starting to question his own sanity. How could he be trapped in a room made of _nothing_? It was physically impossible! And how had he not suffocated yet? There were no gaps in the walls, and he was sure he'd used up the oxygen that could've been in the room long ago. Defeated, he sat down on the floor. Pride chose this moment to speak up again.

"**Well, as entertaining as that was, what are you going to do now?"**

"Shut up. We're trapped in an unbreakable nonexistent box. There's nothing I _can_ do until someone lets me out. Which I doubt will happen, given your little display."

"**Oh, so now it's my fault we're in here?" **Pride actually sounded offended. **"I was defending us. That moron attacked us, and so I retaliated. Simple as that."**

Ed decided it was better to quit. Pride wasn't going to concede anything (even though it was totally his fault) and he didn't feel like arguing. He was just so bored, though. If only he had something to read-

And just like with the light, as soon as the thought formed, he was sitting in a library. It looked suspiciously like Central's branch, if not for the fact that instead of the front door, there was just the same goddamn mirror.

"**Whoa. Did you just make that happen? Because that was cool. Wish for some money next. Or some girls. We could use some company…"** Pride trailed off suggestively.

"Don't be stupid." Ed snapped. "There's no way the room's responding to what I want, telepathy's impossible. And what would we even do with money? We're _trapped in a box._"

"**It's the principle of the thing. Wouldn't you rather be trapped in a room with a pile of gold than trapped with no pile of gold?"**

Ed opened his mouth to respond. And then closed it again. That was actually a really good point.

"I wish for a large pile of gold."

Said pile sprang into existence, crushing the table it appeared on under its weight. Ed grinned as his mood instantly improved. Large piles of gold were obviously highly therapeutic. And fun to look at.

"I also wish for new clothes, or my old ones to be cleaned. And for my automail to be repaired."

All of these things happened. Then, as Ed was admiring how nice his new trench coat was, another idea came to him. It was so simple he almost could have laughed.

"I wish for Pride to be removed from me, to be created into a separate entity."

He closed his eyes and braced for… something to happen. Honestly, he had no idea what to expect. After a minute, he cracked open an eyelid. And then Pride pointed out the obvious.

"**I don't think that one worked,"** he said in a deadpan tone. Of course. Because it couldn't be _that_ easy.

Ed shrugged.

"Was worth a shot," he replied. "At least now we know there are limits, which means there are rules. Any other things we want?"

Pride was quick to respond.

"**How about a way out? Would be nice."**

Ed voiced the sentiment to the room. Nothing. He sighed. Well, that confirmed one thing. He was in a prison. A really cool, wish-within-reason-granting prison, but still a prison. He turned towards the books. At least there was always research.

It had been years since he'd first woken up in this room. (At least it felt that way. He had no way of tracking time, and he didn't even have a sleep cycle anymore. Homunculi, he'd found, didn't sleep.) In some ways, he'd made lots of progress. He and Pride had come to a mutual agreement, which hopefully would keep the Homunculus in his mind unless it felt like it needed to come out. He'd fully discovered the mysterious properties of his cage (What else could he call it?). Food was not available (good thing he didn't need to eat) and neither, much to Pride's disappointment, were girls. Living things in general weren't possible, but he could get animated mannequins to spar with. He couldn't demand anything unreasonable like a way out or a portal back home or a way to communicate with Al. He'd have killed for that last one, didn't even have to be his brother. What he'd give for even an argument with the Colonel…

Best not to sink to those depths.

But he was so _bored._ Practically nobody ever came to look at him, and those who did obviously saw something else. His room had been moved several times (he had no clue how, it was goddamn _enormous_) but it always ended up with the same scenery. Staring out the sole window at a dull, blank, usually stone wall.

There was nothing to do. At all. He couldn't practice alchemy, as everything the room produced was made of nothing, and therefore untransmutable. They _looked_ like books, they _felt _like practice dummies, and he'd been repeatedly reminded that the walls were _very_ solid, but none of it was real. It was all an illusion. He had no idea how such an effect was produced, but it was there, and that was what mattered in the end.

His boredom was such that he would give almost anything to be let out. Pride took great pleasure in comparing him to a genie, and he couldn't deny the parallels. But as the time wore on, he never forgot that he was here for a reason.

Fix the imbalance.

Whatever that was.

* * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, owner of far too many honorary and cumbersome titles, looked down at the innocent red stone he held in his palm. According to Nicolas, the Stone would be useless to anybody but a master alchemist, but neither of them were willing to place all their money on that particular wager.

Especially when the lives of so many were on the line.

So Albus had come to his long-time associate and asked to hide it. After all, who would suspect anyone of putting such a dangerous artifact in a school of all places? Dumbledore smiled grimly. The trap would be set, and the bait was irresistible. All there was left to do was hide it away.

A few taps, a muttered and by now memorized spell, and the arguably most powerful magical artifact to be created in the last five centuries was stowed inside a heavily enchanted mirror.

Caught up in the cleverness of his own plan, Albus failed to remember several things, the most important of which was staring at the retreating wizard's back through a one-sided mirror.

* * *

It was Pride who spoke up first.

"**Was it just me, or did he just drop a Stone through the glass?"**

Ed blinked twice, then did a mental face-palm.

"We could have broken out! Right then! The glass was gone, and the only one around was the grandpa! _I WAS ALMOST FREE!_" He ended his escalating outburst with a shattering punch at a conveniently appearing dummy, whose face was reduced to splinters.

Pride, however, was less emotional.

"**There was a chance, we missed it. I have no doubt there'll be others. Right now, let's focus on the Philosopher's Stone that seems to have been thrown in here with us."**

Finding Pride's argument to be sound, Edward calmed down. If the interminable wait had taught Edward nothing else, it was patience. He took a step forwards and picked up the innocent red gem. No doubt about it. This was the real thing. The only question was, what was he going to _do _with it?

"**Eat it, of course."** The matter-of-fact way Pride had spoken would have sounded better fitting if he had been holding an apple, and not the most alchemically powerful object in the world. Needless to say, Edward had a few objections.

"EAT IT?" he repeated, shocked. "Those are people's _souls!_ I can't just-"

Pride cut him off.

"**Look, souls or not, they're stuck in there. Permanently. Now, there are two ways they can spend the rest of eternity. Either they can continue to be stuck in the little rock, or they can be stuck in **_**us,**_** and actually be doing something useful, like keeping us alive. Face it. You can't save them, and they're more use to us if you eat the damn thing than if you keep angsting about those stupid morals things."**

Yet again, Edward was struck speechless. From a completely heartless, calculating point of view, Pride actually made sense. And there really was no way to save the souls. He shrugged. Apparently, spending an extended amount of time in solitary with a psychopathic second personality had an impact on him. Who would've guessed?

He opened his mouth and popped the stone inside. It tasted surprisingly good, like some sort of delicious candy. As soon as he swallowed the thing, he felt an enormous rush of energy. It was comparable to the time Havoc had given him a concentrated espresso, in double the normal dosage. He'd torn the office apart working off his energy, but it had felt freaking amazing while it had lasted.

"**Hm... This is new." **Pride sounded puzzled.

Ed frowned.

"What? I ate the damn stone just like you wanted. Now you're saying something's wrong?"

"**No, not wrong at all. Pretty good, from your standpoint. It'll appease that thing you call a conscience to know that somehow, there were no souls in that Stone. Just pure energy."**

Ed's eyebrows furrowed.

"That can't be right. The souls are essential to keep the energy in the Stone bonded. Without them, it doesn't stay together and the whole thing goes up. It was in Marcoh's notes." He started to pace, a habit he'd picked up during his time in confinement.

"The only way that the Stone can be kept stable is with the souls, and since it had no souls, that means someone found a substitute to bind the energy…" He trailed off as he realized what that meant. The Stone could be created without mass sacrifice, which meant it was probably not a secret here. Everyone and their dog probably had their hands on one.

"Explains several things, including the lack of Equivalency. I bet that they just stored their Stones in those sticks of theirs, and use that like some kind of long-range alchemy."

He frowned. Things just got a whole lot more complicated.

* * *

It wasn't long before the old man returned. Ed leapt up, standing just next to the window, out of sight. Ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. After a few minutes of nothing, he chanced a peek outside. They were moving. Down a hallway, up a staircase, past a few portraits (were they _moving?_) and suits of armor that looked decidedly less intimidating than Al, and his prison was in another room. A classroom.

Dear Truth, was he in a school?

The old man, his job finished, sat down in a corner of the room, tapped his forehead with his stick, and promptly vanished. Edward, long used to such tricks, was unfazed. He'd seen weirder than that, by some truly desperate men who'd seen something when they looked into his prison that obviously wasn't him.

A few hours later, and someone else appeared in the room. A boy, who didn't look older than nine. A very scrawny nine year old at that. He mouthed two words that, even though Ed couldn't hear, struck him to his core. Asking for his parents. Combined with the reverent, almost euphoric expression on his face, Edward wondered if the kid missed his home that much.

"**Or maybe he just doesn't have one." **Pride's unusually deep comment was a little shocking. That could be the case, after all. The boy turned, obviously startled by something outside the room, before looking back for one last glimpse. A few words that were obviously a promise to return, and he disappeared again. The old man reappeared a minute later, with a look mingling between regret and satisfaction, and left in a hurry.

Well. That was weird.

The routine was performed the next night, too. The old man came in, and promptly hid himself. Why he didn't have something better to do than watch little boys was beyond both Pride and his host. The boy appeared again, just like last night.

No, he'd brought someone with him. A gangly redhead who stood back as the smaller child rapidly spoke to him, pointing repeatedly at Ed's window. Obviously ginger didn't get the point, as he furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. Scrawny took a step back, motioning for Ginger to step in front. And suddenly, the boy's face changed, looking similar to all those Ed had watched before. His eyes held awe, and no small trace of greed as he slowly spoke to his friend. Apparently unsatisfied, Scrawny tried to take his place back in front of Ed, but ginger pushed back. This probably would have devolved into an embarrassing and undignified catfight had they not been startled by something in the hallway, as with last night. Gathering something up off the ground, they threw it over themselves, and vanished.

And again, as with last night, the old man reappeared, looking satisfied as he made his way out of the classroom.

The third night was different. Edward could tell. For one, the old man didn't bother vanishing. He sat comfortably in one of the various desks around the room, obviously waiting for Scrawny and Ginger. And sure enough, the former showed up, minus one carrot top. Hm.

As the boy began to gaze at the window, the old man spoke up behind him. Ed got a great laugh out of the look of sheer panic on his face as he spun around. It was classic, and his standards for entertainment had slipped as his boredom had risen. After a brief conversation, in which creepy old stalker man seemed to play the generous grandfather, Scrawny was sent back to bed. Then, the old man, for the first time since Ed had seen him, looked directly into the glass. Edward knew nobody saw him, but it was unnerving, the way the man gazed almost right at him. And then he noticed the strangest part about the whole scenario. Unlike the greed or awe of all the other viewers Ed had encountered, this man was different.

He was crying.

**And so the plot actually begins! I know it was kinda predictable (who am I kidding, everyone knew it from the moment they saw 'Mirror of Erised') but hey, new chapter! As for how the mechanics of the Mirror- I figured that being stuck ****inside**** a mirror that showed you whatever you wanted would have the same effects as being in the Room of Requirement. It makes sense if you squint real hard and have brainstorming sessions at 9 pm. Nobody can see Ed because their deepest desire isn't to retrieve a Homunculus from the Mirror (see chapter 2).**

**In response to your reviews:**

**No, I can't see Truth sending anyone else. Yet. Haven't made up my mind either way, but I'm not sending a ton of friends over to Harry Potter world. It just doesn't work in my mind. If anybody made it over, it would be Mustang. Or Alphonse. But seriously. Who else would have the alchemic know-how and the drive to get Edward back?**

**I really got poked up out of my procrastination by reviews asking me to update soon. Yes. To all of you out there who doubt that your reviews are read, I look at ALL of them. And take them to heart. I'm kind of attached to my writing like that. That little vindication given, goodbye until next time!**

**-Ambiguity**


	4. Escape and a Duel

**Wow. Now that I've neared the 10K words mark, it seems a lot of you have gotten serious. Some of these reviews are amazing. It feels great that you all like this story enough to care about plot holes and stuff. As such, I've decided to work on this chapter much earlier, and reward you all for your enthusiasm. While I don't agree with the practice of holding stories hostage for reviews, I am motivated to write more by your reviews, and will not deny that there is a direct relationship between how many reviews I get and how much I care about writing the next chapter. **

**Enough of my blatant begging.**

**On with the story!**

Albus Dumbledore turned quickly away from the Mirror, silently cursing his stupidity. It was one thing to dream, but another to have said dream shoved back into his face, mocking him for what he could never accomplish. It was a moment of weakness that made him look, nothing else. He'd have to be more careful in the future. Now, where was he?

Ah, yes. Moving the Mirror of Erised down to the Third Floor Corridor. A call for Fawkes, a flash of phoenix fire, and one more thing was crossed off his to-do list. Now if only he could get rid of the niggling doubt in the back of his head, telling him he'd forgotten something. Oh well. Lemon drops could calm his soul, and soothe his worries.

* * *

Edward blinked, momentarily blinded by the burst of light outside his cell. It had looked like the entire room was on fire, but that wasn't right. Old Man was still standing there when he'd disappeared, and not panicking. Must be another illusion. A trick, like making yourself invisible. Instant transportation. That was a problem for another time.

This new room was-surprise!- stone. It was completely bare, except for the doorway on the opposite wall, which seemed to be filled with black fire. Edward shrugged off his new surroundings and turned back to his most recent book- a dictionary of the English language. He felt he might be needing it.

* * *

It was a few months later that Edward had another visitor. The man was thin, wore a turban of all things, and very pale, as if he'd been permanently scarred by some horror. But his eyes shone with the same greed as all the others.

Then something happened that Ed had never expected. The pale man, instead of staring straight ahead, turned and looked directly at him. It was almost as if he could see him. The man turned to the glass, pulled out his stick, and muttered some long string of words. He obviously didn't get the result he was expecting, as he stepped back with a frustrated look on his face. He swiped his stick, and a jet of purplish-black light issued forth, before impacting the glass. It, too, had no effect.

Edward was having a great time watching the man expend himself trying to break the glass. He knew the effort was futile, and so took great pleasure in visually mocking the man whenever his latest attempt failed. It started off with a small grin here, a snicker there. As he noticed the anger becoming evident on the man's face, he began to blatantly insult him, with hand gestures and facial expressions universally insulting, no matter where in the multiverse one comes from. Pride helped him, offering suggestions whenever his imagination began to run out. All in all, it was the most fun he'd had in years, and in the back of his mind, he hoped to infuriate the man to the point where he actually did break the glass, if such a thing were possible.

But for now, he'd settle for laughing maniacally as the man in the turban went for another round.

* * *

Harry Potter was not as brave as everyone liked to think. While he was no Ravenclaw, he wasn't about to charge into a room where a Dark Wizard was lying in wait. And so he stepped lightly through the black flames, ready to duck and roll at the first sign of a spell.

As he exited the fire, he could have been at a dead run for all the attention he attracted. The figure in the middle of the room was standing in front of what seemed to be the Mirror of Erised _(So that's where it went) _and trying his best to blast it to smithereens. As Harry examined the scene closer, though, he realized that the man in front of him was most definitely not Snape.

His gasp was timed, according to his luck, with one of the breaks Quirrel took in trying to blast apart the glass, and as such he was heard quite clearly. Quirrel, belying his previous air of incompetence, whipped around and fired off an _Incarcerous_ before Harry could blink. As he had learned nothing of shielding all year, the poor boy could do nothing but be bound up and lie before his captor.

Quirrel started off into a diabolic speech, waxing eloquent about how evil and clever he was, how perfect his cover, and on and on. Harry tuned him out for most of it, having heard much of the same thing when listening in on Dudley while his fat cousin watched the telly. He did, however, pick up some important bits, such as

A- Voldemort wasn't quite dead yet

B- Snape was actually a good guy, and

C- Quirrel was having a bit of trouble getting at the Stone.

These facts, when presented in megalomaniac speech form, took about ten minutes to communicate. In his boredom, Harry twisted his neck, trying to see into the Mirror where Dumbledore had supposedly hidden the Stone.

True desire is a funny thing. While the specifications on removal that Dumbledore put into the Stone's sealing said that one couldn't want to actually use the Stone, they said nothing about beings who had incorporated the Stone. And desire being such a malleable, transient thing, changing so often, what Harry saw while bound and helpless was not him hiding the Stone. No, he was quite sure that if Quirrel hadn't gotten to it yet, it was quite safe. The only thing young Harry wanted was for somebody to come get him out of this mess.

The Mirror happily, if such a word can be applied to an artifact, obliged.

* * *

Edward was watching the scene before him with not a little mounting concern. He had no idea why Scrawny had shown up, but by the fact he had been bound up and was being spoken at by the other man with anger issues, he was guessing that mortal peril was on the menu. Then he saw the boy twist, and stare right at the glass.

For the first time, the room shifted without Ed's intending it to. The chair he had been taunting turban man from heaved, and threw him directly at the painfully indestructible window. Right before the imminent, head-bashing impact, the glass shimmered and disappeared.

And that is how Edward Elric, after over fifty years of imprisonment in the Mirror of Erised, tumbled out of the glass face first in an undignified heap.

* * *

Dumbledore sighed as he entered the main ICW chamber. Politics were, while he was good at it, very tedious at times. He silently hoped that the meeting would end quickly so he could get back to running his school. He settled into his chair, bracing himself for hours of politicking and posturing.

"Albus!"

He turned to see his friend, the German Minister of Magic, striding towards him. At least he'd have a decent conversation.

"How are you doing, my friend?" Albus inquired. The serious man brightened briefly.

"Oh, very good. Those blasted reparations from Grindelwald's war are almost completely paid off!" he replied. "Ten billion galleons, I ask you!"

Dumbledore smiled and nodded vaguely, knowing that the subject was still touchy with the German. Then he stopped smiling as his friend's words caused several memories to surface. Especially one memory in particular.

The normally dignified Supreme Mugwump leapt to his feet, and near-sprinted out of the room. The German Minister sat in his chair, internally sulking.

"_If he wanted to stop talking, he could have just said so._"

* * *

Harry watched as the strange man from the mirror slowly stood up, talking to himself in a language Harry couldn't quite make out. He started to walk towards Harry, straight past Quirrel, who seemed to be stunned and enraged, and was currently trying to form a word.

The golden man crouched next to Harry, and asked him a question in his not-quite understandable language.

"I'm sorry, I can't understand you," Harry apologized. "Can you speak English?"

The man immediately scowled.

"Only a little," he said in heavily accented English. "You are alright?"

Harry nodded. The man relaxed just a bit. He opened his mouth to respond, but then Quirrel reminded them both of his presence.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

The spell streaked across the small space between its caster and its target. Harry watched, horrified, as his rescuer managed a half-turn before being struck, and slumped forwards, clearly dead.

"You killed him…" Harry whispered. Honestly, he didn't know why he was so surprised. After all, the man had been trying to off him most of the year.

"Of course, you stupid boy. Now, with that little worm gone, how to get the Philosopher's Stone,,,"

The body of the once-dead man stirred. His shadow shifted, twisted, and rose up with him, showing countless violet eyes and mouths with far too many teeth. Harry suddenly experienced the same sort of feeling as when he had met Fluffy. This was the primal fear of prey in the face of a much more powerful predator. This, in front of him, was raw _power_.

"_And who," _the thing asked, _"Are you calling small, turban man?"_

Quirrel turned to face the new threat. Either the man was insanely stupid, or he just didn't get how dead he was.

"What in the Dark Lord's name are you?" he demanded. "I killed you! I saw you die! The Avada Kedavra is absolute!"

The shadowy being seemed to pause for a moment. Then it began to laugh.

"_Oh, but that's the best part, mortal,_ "it said. "_I did die. And it wasn't fun. And so now I'm going to return the favor and kill you. How's that sound, hm? Equivalent Exchange and all that."_

Lances of shadow shot out from the ground, tearing through Quirrel's hastily conjured shield like hot knives through an overused metaphor, and then Quirrel. His broken body was tossed to the side as the thing turned towards a still-bound Harry.

"_You alright, kid?"_

Harry distantly observed that it spoke with the same accent that it had before. He was snapped out of his daze when the question was repeated.

"Yes, I'm fine sir," he replied quickly. Rule number one of living with the Dursleys: Always be polite to those in power.

"_Good._" And with that, shadows sliced away the ropes. As Harry stood slowly up, the shadows receded back towards their owner, and his eyes switched back to gold. Gold and violet eyes. How strange.

"Sorry about Pride," the man said. "He's a little…"

He trailed off, obviously describing the effect of having a murderous entity within five feet of you.

"Anyway," he began, "I'm Edward Elric. Mind telling me where I am?"

"Hogwarts," Harry said. "What was that?"

Edward grimaced.

"That was Pride. Think of him as my worse half." The tone of the man's voice clearly stated that line of conversation was over.

"Do you mind telling me what a Hogwarts is?" he asked, silently judging the name of anything called _Hogwarts_.

Harry was confused.

"How do you not know what Hogwarts is? It's the only Wizarding school in Britain."

Edward's eyebrows shot up.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, disbelief obvious. "Wizards? As in magic? Which doesn't exist?"

Harry's response was cut off by a black mist rising from Quirrel's body, which then rushed out of the room, shrieking like Peeves and fast as the wind. Harry stared after the spirit, wondering if something should be done about it, before turning back to his newest friend.

"Of course, magic. How else do you make shadows move? Headmaster Dumbledore-"

His inquiry was cut off by Edward swearing very loudly and angrily in his own language.

"Dumbledore?" he asked, eyes wide and furious. Harry nodded, confused by the sudden change in demeanor. More swearing was to be heard, before Edward turned and rushed to the entry, where the black fire was still burning.

Only to be blasted backwards as Dumbledore swept through, wand drawn and eyes blazing. The wizened wizard leveled his weapon at the smoldering heap at the back of the wall. Harry felt like he was missing something.

"Sir, what's going on?"

Dumbledore spared him a glance before turning back to Ed, who had gotten dazedly back to his feet.

"So that's your game, demon?" he asked. "Using the desperate hopes of a child to escape your prison?"

Edward frowned, both hurt by the accusation of _using_ anybody and confused as to who the man in front of him was.

"Demon is a little harsh. If you want to insult me, at least do it right. And, I'm sorry if I missed something, but who are you again? I lose track of the people who want to kill me."

"He's Dumbledore," Harry supplied helpfully.

Ed grinned at the aged man. For once, he could see the perks of outliving everyone. In his moment of satisfaction, he decided to torment his former jailer.

"So this is the man who put me in that damned prison. How's mortality treating you, gramps?"

With that remark, he clapped, and, handspringing away from a barrage of spells, slammed his palms on the stone floor. The room sprang to life, hands launching themselves at Dumbledore, shields popping up between him and his target.

Dumbledore countered the assault with ease, blasting the grasping fingers to shrapnel, and transfiguring fists into feathers. Shields were reduced to rubble under blasts of chain lighting, and Edward found himself once again dodging and running.

He clapped again, spreading his arms in front of him, and red lighting arced towards Dumbledore, who stopped his spell chain to conjure a shield. When nothing seemed to happen, he resumed his attack. Edward clapped, and sent a small spark into the enormous cloud of oxygen he had just transmuted.

An awe-inspiring gout of fire swallowed the wizard whole, along with half the room. Harry ducked for cover, all but forgotten as the battle raged. When Ed had finally blinked the last spots from his eyes, he immediately ducked and rolled to dodge a nasty-looking yellow jet of light, which sizzled against the wall behind him.

A wary standoff ensued, in which attacks were exchanged but no hits were scored. Just as suddenly as his last offensive had ended, Dumbledore launched into another attack sequence, this one mostly consisting of jets of flame and explosions, hoping that the wide-area damage would be harder to dodge. Edward resumed his ducking and blocking, until he found a pause in the chain. He clapped, and dropped to the floor, shielding himself behind a pile of rubble. Pressing his palms to the pile in front of him, he closed his eyes tight as the whole pile exploded into a cloud of very fine dust, which rapidly expanded to obscure the room.

Edward waited in the semi-gloom, grateful for his break. Suddenly, a gale of wind blasted a hole through the cloud, and revealed a wand directly in front of Edward's nose. He grinned.

"Well played, old man. Well played. I'll have to admit, you're even better than the Bastard was at this. I'd love to have a rematch sometime."

As he spoke, he surreptitiously touched his hands together behind his back, then pressed them against the wall. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. For such a vicious fighter, the demon was giving up far too easily. And so as the wall opened up in front of him to swallow his opponent, he launched one last _reducto_ before the being disappeared.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh, and stood, surveying what had once been a nearly empty room. There were half liquefied piles of rubble smoldering around the room, and every bit of floor that hadn't been warped or blasted was covered in an inch of the fine dust. The Mirror of Erised was in ruins, apparently having taken quite too much punishment in too short of a time. He supposed it was for the best. The artifact had been nothing but trouble. He turned towards a shell shocked Harry Potter.

"Come on, my boy," he said. "Let's get you to the hospital wing."

* * *

**And Edward is free to roam once more! Yes, Harry might seem a little bit OOC from the books. I call this poetic license. Edward only now recognizes Dumbledore because it has been fifty years. It's like re-meeting someone you met in high school after years. You don't make the recognition because they have changed. In the same way, Edward doesn't connect the strong, young leader Dumbledore to the creepy grandfather he's become. Yes, I get that learning English out of a dictionary is far-fetched. However, Ed learned Alchemy solely from his father's notes. This is an art that takes fully grown adults years to wrap their minds around. He did it when he was what- five? If he can do that, he can learn a language out of books. Get over it.**

**WARNING: The next bit is just clarifications for the questions I know you all will ask. If you're just an uncurious person who wants to get on with their life, feel free to skip the rest of the Author's note.**

**As for the Stone, I'm slightly altering its mechanics. Instead of using up souls to do philosopher's stone stuff, it uses the energy in the stone. The souls are just there to keep the otherwise volatile stone stable. Think of it like a battery. A highly powerful nuclear battery created through mass genocide. The effects of this will be made clear soon.**

**About Germany's reparations:**

**After WWI, Germany was forced to pay the Allies cash reparations for the damages it had caused, even though it wasn't even responsible for the war in the first place. These amounted to about 500 billion US dollars. If we apply the conversion to Galleons, we get a tidy 10 billion galleons using the handy (and sensible) conversion rate I found on Faery Heroes by Silently Watches. It makes much more sense than JK Rowling's estimate of 5 pounds per galleon. While this sum might seem unfair, it did to a whole lot of others, too. The reparations were one of the main reasons Germans were bitter enough to start a Second World War. History lessons aside, I figured that the magical world was going to be just as unforgiving as the Muggle one in terms of treaties.**

**In response to your reviews:**

**Ed himself can't control Pride's shadows. Pride and Ed take turns controlling Ed's body, which basically means that when anyone gets the drop on Ed, Pride comes out to play.**

**No, Ed won't be able to hide. At least, hide for long. After this, everyone's going to be on a demon hunt. Except for Harry. He isn't going to somehow sneak out of Hogwarts to hunt for what he's been told is an incredibly powerful evil demon. He's not stupid, if that hasn't been made clear.**

**And now that I've bored you all to death with my clarifications, I'll be bidding you all a very happy Easter! **

**-Ambiguity**


	5. The Hunt Begins

**Hi, everyone! New chapter! Yaaaaay!**

**A quick word before we begin, as this is something I want to clear up beforehand. At no point is there going to be a different text for somebody speaking Amestrian. You know the types, italics for this, bold for that, etc. If Ed is speaking Amestrian, it's going to be blindingly obvious. The only exception to the no-different-speak rule is Pride and Ed conversing in their head. (Head or heads? Not sure about that one.) As you have noticed, Pride when Ed is in control is in bold. Only Ed hears him. Same the other way around. That out of the way,**

**ON WITH THE STORY!  
**

* * *

Edward panted heavily as he crouched in the semi-gloom of his self-made cave. He barely had room to stand up, not that he was in any condition to. That last blast, the parting shot, had hit him. Dead center. He had discovered that being immortal did not spare one from the agony of having a hole punched through one's torso. Nor the pain of re-growing half his vitals. It was, on a scale of one to automail surgery, a solid eight.

Wait a second. That didn't make sense.

He shrugged, red sparks shining their last as his stomach became no longer see-through. That meager light source gone, the little hideaway was plunged into complete darkness. Pride, apparently occupied with healing them, decided to give commentary.

"**Why on earth did you **_**run away**_**?" **His voice, though mentally the same volume, had all the same force as if he was shouting. **"We **_**had**_** him, he was **_**right there,**_** and you chickened out! It's like you don't even want revenge!"**

Edward frowned deeply.

"It's not my fault. He would have blown us to bits," He paused a moment to glance down at his now much less messy torso. "Still did. And that was a lucky shot. If I had stayed, he could have caught us again. Stupid old man. Calling me a _demon._ It's like he's never heard of a Homunculus before!"

Pride was not to be distracted.

"**You still ran away."** It was a statement, albeit an angry one. Edward's eyebrows shot up as he realized what the sin really was getting at.

"Does retreating hurt your sense of _dignity_?" The question was asked with heavy disbelief. "You'd rather stay true to your 'nature' as a proud idiot than live to fight again?"

He received no response. It would seem that nobody had introduced the homunculus to hard truths. Ed sighed, exasperated with his stubborn… companion? Tagalong? Hitchhiker? It didn't matter. He had research to do.

* * *

Dumbledore steered a shell-shocked first year through the maze of corridors towards the Hospital wing. The poor boy looked slightly battered, and the edges of his robes looked singed. He hadn't spoken a word the whole way, just walked along, staring straight ahead. The venerable Headmaster knew a case of shock when he saw one, and was impatient to get his student to care.

Not too quickly, though. Even a mind as quick as his still needed time to sift through the events of that afternoon. What to say, what to hide, what to hint at? It wouldn't do to tell the boy he had set loose an unimaginable horror upon the world. Not at all. That sort of thing would kill the boy. Not to mention what the press would make of it. The _Prophet_ would eat him alive.

Not to mention the questions that would inevitably come from certain media elements as to _why_ a demon was sealed in the school in the first place. As distasteful as it was, he had only one option. They were at the exit of the secret passage leading to the sick bay now. Dumbledore turned to Harry, and looked into his half-present eyes.

"I'm so sorry, my boy. _Obliviate._" The green eyes darkened, and the boy collapsed into Dumbledore's arms. There. All the loose ends cut. Except for the demon itself. He mentally resolved to get to that later, as soon as he explained to an irate Madame Pomfrey why three of her most frequent visitors were back for another round of healing.

* * *

Harry woke slowly, blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows and stared around. How on earth did he end up in his bed? Wait, not his bed. Hospital wing bed. He frowned in concentration, trying to figure out how on earth he'd gotten here. He remembered walking through the fiery doorway, into the room, where he'd seen-

"Quirrell!" he gasped. What had happened? He obviously hadn't been killed, so maybe Dumbledore saved him? Had Hermione's letter reached him in time?

The wizened wizard in question arrived in the Hospital wing the same time as Harry finished his train of thought. The old man was by his bedside in an instant, twinkling down on him with concern.

"How are you, my boy? Feeling alright, I hope?" The Headmaster sat down by the head of Harry's bed, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

"Fine, sir." Harry answered. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

At this, Dumbledore chuckled.

"It depends on who you ask. At breakfast, I heard you had suffered a tragic death protecting the Stone to your last breath. In the halls, the most interesting rumor was floating around, something about taming a dragon and using it to battle the late Professor Quirrell. At lunch, most of Hufflepuff was convinced you'd vanished, to wander the world under the alias Mr. Grey or some such name, vanquishing Dark Wizards wherever they could be found. And then, this afternoon, Minerva came to me, demanding to know if you had actually been apprenticed to Nicolas Flamel." The old man chuckled, obviously taking enjoyment in the absurdity of the Hogwarts rumor mill. Harry was not to be deterred.

"But what actually happened, sir?" he pressed.

His headmaster sighed, obviously deflated that Harry did not share in his amusement.

"No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I rushed back, to find you lying in the same room as the Mirror, and Quirrell… well, I think it's enough to say that he won't be hurting anyone else."

Harry was astounded.

"But _how?_"

Dumbledore's twinkle turned up a few notches, as he looks thoughtfully at his pupil.

"I am of the opinion that the sacrifice that your mother made for you, to save your life from Voldemort, still lingers. Her love protects you, and that is something that an evil being cannot touch."

That did nothing to clarify Harry's confusion. Love saved him from Quirrell? That made as much sense as some dimension travelling hero coming to his rescue.

A few miles away, Edward sneezed violently.

Dumbledore was still sitting by Harry's bedside, and cleared his throat quietly, startling Harry out of his musings. It would seem that the conversation wasn't over yet.

"I do have one question for you, my boy. Do you know what happened to the Sorcerer's Stone? It was not in Quirrell's possession, and I am quite sure that you do not have it. Thus leaving me to ask- Do you know what happened to it?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Professor. All I remember is walking into the room and seeing Quirrell, and then it all goes fuzzy."

Dumbledore cursed inwardly. He shouldn't have been so hasty to wipe the boy's memory. Now he had no idea where the Stone could be. Well, there was one, but it was the least appealing idea he'd had in the last ten years.

He stood, smiling once more.

"Thank you for your time, Harry. I must be taking my leave now."

And with that, he left, hurrying back to his office as quickly as possible. There were calls to make, and contacts to warn. He had a demon to hunt.

* * *

Edward made his way down the long road, searching for any signs of civilization. After a few hours of tunneling with alchemy, he had finally managed to make his way out of the castle. Who even runs a school inside a _castle?_ It was ridiculous.

After freeing himself, his first order of business was to repair his clothing, which, unfortunately, did not regenerate with his body. He made a mental note to never get set on fire or otherwise completely destroyed. Pain of regeneration aside, he'd be running around stark naked until he found something to wear or transmute. He had done so with some of the plants growing near the edge of the forest close by, and then set out to find a town. Or any place where he could get information. If he could find a library, he was set.

Half an hour later, he found himself standing in the middle of a mostly empty street, shops on either side. Nobody had yet screamed or run away, so he figured he was set as far as blending in. It seemed that the town- Hogsmeade, if the signs were anything to go by- was mostly empty. It made him wonder how the various shops managed to keep open. Surely they didn't sell only to those living in town. Maybe the students were allowed a day or two off, to spend in town?

He shook his head. Focus, Ed. Focus.

So. Library. Scanning the storefronts as he walked by, he spotted a bookstore. Almost as good- he didn't have any money, but there weren't any rules against reading while in the store. Or so he hoped.

Closing time saw Edward sitting among a pile of history books, sifting through the events of the last century. By his guess, basing off Dumbledore's apparent change in age, he'd been put away for a good half century or so. This theory was supported by the books, which said that the last war the old man had actually participated in was around that time frame, and Ed had most definitely appeared on a battleground. So, fifty year time gap it was. It made him wonder why Truth had bothered to send him somewhere half a century early. The being had obviously chosen to toss him in at a specific point, but it made him wonder. He chalked it up to insane God powers. And being a bastard.

Another thing confusing him was these people's version of alchemy. They honestly believed they were doing magic, going so far as to referring to themselves as 'witches' and 'wizards'. They were in hiding from the rest of the world, which apparently didn't have 'magic'. It seemed it was a natural gift, unlike teachable alchemy, which most considered to be a lesser art. Turning lead into gold was their primary aim, and they couldn't even do _that_! It was shameful. If he wasn't so busy, he might have taught a class. Knock the ignorance out of them.

Nah. It would take _years._

Everything now seemed to center on the events of the last decade and a half. It seemed a second war had been fought up until eleven years ago, when it ended suddenly with the death of the 'Dark Side's' figurehead. Accounts differed, but apparently he'd been taken out by a _baby _of all things. Since then, except for a few isolated terrorist attacks, everything was quiet.

As far as finding out what Truth's ambiguous 'imbalances' were, he had made no progress. That was still the state of his research when the shopkeeper finally noticed him and tossed him out with a few choice expletives. Edward made a note to look that up later. It was one thing to swear in Amestrian, but nobody understood that here, and he needed to insult people _properly_. To their faces, while they could understand him.

He turned and walked down the road, towards where he had seen a pub. After a day like this, he needed a stiff drink. That is, if Homunculi could get drunk. Pride chose that moment to stop giving him the silent treatment over their previous argument, with a philosophical answer to his mental question.

"**I've got no idea if we can get smashed, but here's to finding out. Transmute yourself some gold, and let's see if these people make some good alcohol."**

That, at least, was a sentiment he could agree with.

* * *

Dumbledore stood in front of the assembled first responders who had made it to his office. He frowned gravely, and everyone in the room shivered. Dumbledore frowning was an evil, evil omen. Something terrible must have happened.

"My friends, I would like to thank you for responding to my request on such short notice. I realize that you all are curious as to the urgency of my message, so I shall make this brief."

He stopped, swallowed, and blinked a few times. For once, it was neither dramatic effect nor toying with his audience that made him pause.

"We face a threat that has the potential to be lethal on the level of a rouge dragon. I anticipate that we shall be faced with the same circumstances as with the end of the last war."

That announcement got their attention. Suddenly nobody was tired, and every ear in the room was hanging on his words.

"This afternoon, as I'm sure some of you are aware, a failed attempt was made to steal the Sorcerer's Stone from Hogwarts. The perpetrator, the late Professor Quirrell, is dead. However, his attempt has loosed something much more powerful."

Mutterings were heard, and Alastor Moody spoke up.

"Well, then, Albus, what is this threat? Stop beating around the bush and tell us!"

Dumbledore's gaze fell upon the man.

"In due time, Alastor. In due time."

"I am sure you are all aware of the history of the Wizarding war before Voldemort's crusade. The cleanup from Grindelwald's war was messy, and extensive. One of the operations which I personally took part in the ending of was the summoning and binding of a demon."

Nearly everyone in the room gasped. A demon was unheard of! There were no actual recorded accounts of one, only vague legends from Merlin's time, of men who summoned great beings, which inevitably destroyed them. Dumbledore continued over the alarmed murmurings.

"The demon, was, thankfully, still weak, and was bound and sealed away before any harm could come to anybody. I regret to say that age has made me foolish, and it was not guarded as it should have been. It has escaped, and I believe has taken Nicolas' stone with it."

One of them fainted. The rest were very pale, having gotten the implications of what he was saying. An immeasurably powerful being with an immeasurably powerful artifact was loose. Dumbledore didn't wait for them to recover. He had another important announcement to make.

"In this time of emergency, I am reinstating the Order of the Phoenix. As school is out for the summer holidays, meetings will be held here, every week on Saturday. For now, go home, get some rest, and find your contacts. We need to establish a search network as soon as possible. It takes the form of a young man, maybe in his early twenties. He has golden eyes and hair, and is on the short side. If you must engage, do so with caution. He has what I believe to be very advanced elemental magic, and is an extremely adept fighter. Whatever you do, _do not_ tell the Ministry. With their measures, they'll be arresting every blond werewolf in the country, and panicking too much to do anything properly if they find the real deal. Same for the Prophet, for obvious reasons."

With that said, he sat back down in his chair.

"I thank you, and good night. I have paperwork to do, and a Defense teacher to find."

The stunned members filed out of the office, heading their separate ways out of the castle. Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody walked out to Hogsmeade down the main path. He'd need to double, triple his wards. Buy a new foe glass, another scrying bowl. And then contact his resources for this demon hunt. But first. First, he was going to get a pint to soothe his nerves.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Edward Elric sat back in his stool, downing his fifth Firewhisky. After fifty-something years of forced fasting, the stuff was the best thing he'd ever tasted, fire breath or no. It also seemed that Homunculi could get drunk. At least, a little tipsy. He mentally wondered if the Stone would let him die of alcohol poisoning before regenerating him. The other bar patrons were staring at him in mild amazement. This stranger was well on his way to beating Hagrid's record! It was unthinkable that someone of his size would compare to a giant of a man like Hagrid.

Then, all attention was redirected as the door banged open and one of the Hog's Head's rarer patrons strode in. All criminal activity going on in the corners of the room ceased as Mad-Eye step-clunked unevenly up to the bar.

"One Firewhiskey."

"Coming right up."

As Moody drank the volatile beverage, his eye continued to rove around the bar. It paused on a man sitting a few stools down from him, who seemed to be on his sixth pint. Impressive.

He froze as the eye caught a glimpse of the man's face. Golden hair. Golden eyes. On the smaller side. Just his luck.

Moody turned casually towards the heavy drinker, slowly unsheathing his wand. In a sudden flash of movement, it shot out and the next moment the man was stunned and bound. Moody stood up in the now completely silent bar, stepping over to his victim.

Who didn't seem to understand that being Stunned meant being knocked out. Dark, angry violet- why were they violet?- eyes glared up at him as the floor surrounding the captive sprung to life. Blades of shadow cut him free, others propelling him up to stand.

Glaring at the man in front of him, Pride snarled. He knew it was stupid to let their guard down this close to the castle, but they'd been overconfident. And now someone had found them.

"There's a right way to introduce yourself, you know," he began. "Attacking someone isn't it."

He snuck shadows around their feet, ready to slice at his attacker's prosthetic and break his real leg. Moody growled back.

"And what are you, monster?" he asked. "Certainly not human. Definitely powerful. And in possession of the Stone, to boot. I've fought ones like you before, and I'll do so again."

Pride raised an eyebrow.

"I very much doubt you've ever seen something like _me_ before. I'm something a little more…" he trailed off, searching for the right word in Ed's limited English. "Unique."

A flash of movement was all the warning he got before the man's stick- _wand_- flew up to his face, letting off a vicious line of purple on its way up. Pride staggered back as he was sliced from hip to mid-chest, bleeding profusely from the wound. The man stepped back, apparently mildly surprised that his curse had worked. By this time, the bar was empty except for the two of them. Nobody else wanted to get caught in this type of barfight.

Pride steadied himself, red sparks flashing as he straightened, the mortal wound closing. He grinned.

"That the best you got, wooden leg?"

He threw his arms up, shadows obeying as they wrapped around Moody's peg leg, attempting to smash it into kindling. Attempting. The years of runework and enchantments served Moody's prosthetic well, reinforcing the wood far past its breaking point. At Pride's momentary confusion, Moody took the opportunity to cast a spell he thought he'd never use in a fight.

"Lumos Maxima!"

The blast of light wiped away Pride's shadows, momentarily blinding him. The hardened Auror twisted, and Apparated away just in time to avoid being skewered. He'd been at a disadvantage before, and didn't intend on walking blind into a fight with this particular opponent again.

Pride raged in the abandoned bar, smashing chairs to splinters in his anger. The man had gotten away! He'd been stupid, trying to cripple instead of kill.

"**Not that I don't agree with the stupid part, but killing him wouldn't have done us many favors either."**

And there was Ed. Trying to be the moral one.

"**And as stress-relieving as I'm sure smashing this place is, we should probably get out of here before he gets back here with someone to help him. We might have taken him on one to one, but against a group, I don't like our chances."**

Pride's face twisted.

"We can take them. I can take them. I'll show them all why they should fear my name, and why nobody can get the drop on _me._ I'll send them cowering back to their castle, and I'll twist the information we need out of whoever we manage to catch. _Nobody_ beats me. Nobody."

Ed was shocked by the poison in the Homunculus' words. It seemed he hadn't quite gotten over the loss earlier that day. But this… This was beyond that. This was a flashback to the older Pride. The homicidal, mass-murdering, evil Pride. This called for drastic actions. He'd have to appeal to common sense.

"**Pride. Stop, and think. If you try to fight them, you might win at first. Hell, you might send the majority of them running. But we still don't know everything they can do. You saw some of the stuff in those books. I guarantee that there's more where that came from, and numbers will get us even if nothing else does. **_**Think, **_**dammit! Do you **_**want**_** to be locked up in that **_**place**_** again, or killed?"**

The shadows abruptly stopped swarming, and receded back to their owner. His host had a point. Pride reluctantly agreed.

"Fine. But we _are_ going to severely beat the next person who points a stick at us. And if you don't, I certainly will."

Ed, finding no fault with the terms, returned to control. He ran to the side wall, and transmuted a door into a back alley. No sense going out the front door with the whole town stirred up as it was. They'd probably attack him on sight. Better to lie low until he could figure out what was going on. For now, he needed to disappear.

He turned, and with a clap and a flash, the alley was empty again, with the wall at the end just slightly cleaner than would be expected.

* * *

A shadowy figure leaned over his desk in a warmly lit office. No sense in going blind over a sense of drama, after all. He peered at the informant in front of him. It was highly unusual to leave one's post- normally, a report would be filed. That the agent had reported to him in person meant that whatever he had found out was guaranteed to be of interest.

"Sir, at about seven this afternoon, there was a disturbance in the Hog's Head." The shadowy figure waited for the report to continue. Drunken brawls were routine. Not of their interest.

"This one all but leveled the building. As it is, most of the furniture in the bar was smashed, and every bit of floor and wall is ruined."

Not as usual. Aberforth had protection charms on his furniture, having long gotten tired of beer-soaked wizards destroying his tables and chairs. Still not worth reporting in person. There was something left to the story.

"The nature of the fighters might be of interest to you. Alastor Moody quite suddenly and unexpectedly stunned and bound the wizard sitting next to him at the bar. It was a shame, too. He was two Firewhiskeys away from winning me a few galleons…" The operative trailed off as he realized he was getting off topic.

"Anyway, this wasn't one of Moody's regular catches. Shortly after being hit, the unknown displayed a resistance to the stunning spell, as well as what appears to be umbra kinesis. The agents down in Intelligence are of the opinion it's either Dark Magic or a high-level possession. Long story short, whatever it was didn't take kindly to being shot at and trashed the place. Moody actually had to run away."

Oh. Now _that_ was interesting. Resistance to a Stunner could just be runed clothing, maybe a bit of enchantment work. However, umbra kinesis was something worth paying attention to. His hood twitched in a manner indicating approval.

"Good work. Send in a parchment report, and then get back to your shift." The informer nodded and left.

Notifications would have to be made. People to be told. Plans to be set in motion. Searches to start, and, most importantly, a person to be found.

* * *

**Ooh, mystery! And suspense, and sinister well-lit offices! The plot is picking up now, and I'm glad to note that I have a semi-clear idea of where it's going!**

**As you may have noticed, I've been avoiding the issue of, well, my lateness. I started writing this chapter after Lhurgoyf started threatening me with bodily harm. That was a month ago. You can thank him it came this early. As it is, this chapter was written in the brief spaces in between correspondence on my Engineering final project, my English paper, and day-to-day homework. Not to mention two hour long track practice.**

**It's inexcusable, I know, but there it is.**

**Before you all freak out, Dumbledore is not evil. He is not going to try to manipulate everyone to a grand machination of his own. I'll leave that to others. My Dumbledore is a well-meaning, but misguided individual who has been told of his own importance one time too many. Dumbledore is brilliant, and powerful, and benevolent. But sometimes, the Greater Good makes him do things that are morally reprehensible. There it is. Do not leave me a hateful review arguing against my logic, as I will ignore it. I normally do not ignore criticism, but unless you can solidly argue one way or another, Dumbles is grey.**

**Again apologizing for my lateness, I bid you farewell until sometime in June.**

**-Ambiguity**


End file.
